


Wild Space

by Kaggath



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Droids, Multi, Nonsense, Original Characters - Freeform, Other, Twi'lek, Zabrak, rowdy space children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-25 20:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15648141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaggath/pseuds/Kaggath





	1. Chapter 1

One thousand pinpoint knives rushed past her face as she flew through fire. Everywhere she went, on every planet, every being described space as cold and empty, but when she made a hyperspace jump Fliis felt sweat bead as the razor edge of starlines gave to the pulsing indigo fire of escape. This is where your average smuggler would kick up their boots, calling it a job well done as they whisked their haul away faster than even light could catch them. 

Fliis was smarter than the average smuggler. The light of any sun or law may not catch a being in hyperspace, but no lawless current lasted forever and space was never as empty as everyone claimed. 

The Mischief came out of its micro jump. Fliis set her jaw as she swiveled the craft in a sharp turn, cutting a laser precise check into the silky blackness. She practiced this run several times before, with vectors preset, calculated, and memorized. In a pattern Fliis stared down so many times she could draw it in her sleep, a second set of knifepoints raced past her as her next jump took her in the opposite direction any being would be looking for her. 

She imagined pursuing ships shooting past above her head, although the angle of her escape would leave them more likely to kiss her exhaust port goodbye. It was nonetheless a comforting mental image picturing them chasing a half imagined shadow while she, real and alive and well, carted off her spoils to whichever pile of creds she was promised. 

“You realize hyperdrives weren’t made for this. We’ll need another replacement as soon as we’re paid.” Ruin’s contagious optimism inspired indignant beeping from Rack as Fliis’s droids graciously thanked her for keeping them well maintained with her hard earned creds.

“You realize droids weren’t made for giving lip,” Fliis shot back, poking Ruin in the chassis where perhaps a heart would be if he had one. A relieved smile betrayed her hardened smuggler persona. “Besides,” she let her hand fall to pat Rack’s dome, “I have a few spare parts lying around.”

It was an empty threat and her crew knew it. Fliis loved her droids. They were the closest thing to a family she would ever have. 

 

 

Slipping through the air to the heartbeat of the entertainment’s music, red light bathed her skin in sin. The black of her dress wound around her lethan frame. It was the only thing keeping her in bondage to the physical plane, or else she would dissipate into the sanguine clouds of exotic hookah shotgunned between patrons. Of all the palaces and spice dens on Nar Shaddaa, Nokk never before saw a being that filled him with such immediate need as her. He beckoned, and in a swirl as easy as smoke she came to him. 

“What’s your name?” he growled salaciously. He didn’t care, not really. He just wanted to watch her lips move as he wiped away what there was of her dress.

“Difficult to pronounce,” she struggled around Basic in the thick accent of her language. Ryl, they called it. Her tattooed brow furrowed with the effort, but her eyes were sharp, glowing a delicious yellow like molten gold. The meaningless name tumbled from her full lips like whiskey filling his glass and Nokk drank it in.

“Though in Basic it could be said,” she continued an edge in her eyes sharpened on some invisible whetstone, “Slaughter.”

Her final word whispered in crisp Basic. Nokk’s sluggish panic spiked when he couldn’t respond in confusion, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t reach for his blaster. 

Nokk’s joints all locked into place, his lungs frozen stiff. The only things not in the claws of whatever invisible force gripped him were his eyes, searching, frenzied, until they too were taken hold of. Against his will, Nokk’s eyes ticked millimeter by millimeter until they locked into place, pinned by her stare.

To any lookers on it would seem like he was entranced in her beauty. Her hands settled feather light over his cheeks, concealing the acidic tears of terror. Nokk’s body burned like the yellow fire in her eyes as she kissed him. His lungs became black holes and Nokk could feel himself slipping into them. Nokk could feel himself dying. There was only white hot agony inside him as she watched, performing a façade of service. 

There was no sound of ruffled concern, or an abrupt cut of the music. Nobody noticed except for the circles of molten gold that shone even brighter as his light went out.

 

 

Rack’s beeping continued to increase in volume and speed. Sassy little droid. Fliis rolled her eyes, even though they were obscured by her disguise. 

“Yeah! I get it! You think I can’t smell it from here?”

Fliis felt them enter the sticky atmosphere of Nar Shaddaa while trying to stuff herself into her latest persona. A headdress she’d pass as cultural—or something—obscured her head and neck, coming to curving points past her shoulders. The gauntlets Atrax crafted to match it allowed for free movement of the fingers that mattered: thumb, trigger, and…well…the point was she could still use her hands freely while accenting the aesthetic with long, claw-like points that could double as a weapon if needed. 

Not that she thought it would be necessary this time. 

Her client was being absolutely unmanageable. Normally Ruin acted as frontman, which made sense for their line of work. Send out a droid instead of putting your own neck out on the line. Especially when the drop is this small. But no, this particular sleemo had to have his goods hand delivered to him in a spice den of all places. If he was already there, couldn’t he just get his fix in house?

Fliis’s client, Nokk, must be new to this. Which made him all the better to test her latest disguise on. If a complete greenhorn could see through the glamour of spikes and voice scramblers, there’s no way a contact of actual merit would be fooled. 

She would really hate to have to sell this one, though. Atrax outdid himself this time. Clunking out of her quarters as Ruin touched down, she presented her costume.

“What do you think, Ruin? Cape or no cape?”

“I think,” he said, cocking his metal head to the side, “You had better go get our credits.”

“You’re right. No cape…capes say ‘I think I’m cool,’ but really they just get caught in stuff. Capes are for amateurs. I need to look professional.”

Stepping out into the toxic cloud of Nar Shaddaa night, Fliis made her way to the drop. She kept her eyes forward. Minding her business, straight to the contact and back. No side stops, no heroics. She just needed this quick bonus on the way to her real job. Easy credits.

The air felt dirty, and Fliis was glad for her costume. Any barrier she could build to keep herself from the disgusting reality of her surroundings was welcome. Rolling her shoulders back, she built more into his story. 

P’Castaneus was a bounty hunter. Usually. He agreed to Nokk’s run because it was on the way to a larger prize—good lies had a confection dust of truth to sweeten the story—but he was angry Nokk refused to meet with his droid. Adjusting her posture to slip into character, she leaned forward and added weight to her gait as she continued weaving P’Castaneus’s history.

Bounty hunters always seemed to have some tragic back story they refused to divulge. Something eating at them from inside…Fliis would need to act guarded, cold, always at arm’s length. Uninterested in the details, only the ends by any means. 

She was really starting to like P’Castaneus. Trying to squash down the near-optimism of a well-crafted persona, Fliis neared the rendezvous. 

It was too quiet. Her skin itched. Something was very wrong. Careful to retain the persona, she slowed to a curious stomp, entering the “establishment.”

A single, startled, red-skinned Twi’lek stood in the middle of absolute carnage.


	2. Chapter 2

**Mactans**

Mactans let herself get carried away. Now a bounty hunter stood, blaster drawn, between her and the exit. It had been a small enough trash heap of a spice den Mactans didn’t think there would be any backup to the paid muscle she already dealt with. 

Drawing on the last of her energy, she charged him, but before she could draw her weapon proper, a white ring of light hit her like a freighter. Her joints seized for a moment, before everything crashed, imploding into blackness, into nothingness.

 

**Fliis**

“Ruin get us out now!” Fliis yelled as she barreled back into the Mischief.

“What did you screw up this time?” he called from the cockpit, firing up the engines.

“Less sass more gas, scrap heap!” Fliis shouted while she tried to lay the Twi’lek down as gently as possible in the middle of a sloppy exit velocity. 

“To the next drop, then?” Ruin asked from the pilot’s seat. 

“Set coordinates to base and come help me in here,” Fliis instructed. She still had her helmet on, and the voice scrambler hid some of the panic. “So much for no heroics…” she muttered.

Removing her helmet, Fliis heard Ruin’s metal stride, punctuated with question. He looked from her, to the unconscious Twi’lek, then to her again.

“You bought a stripper.”

“I didn’t buy a stripper.”

“You got the credits, and already spent them all. On a stripper.”

“Ruin!” Fliis scolded him. “I didn’t buy a stripper! Listen that spice den was a murder house. I don’t know what happened, but she’s the only one that survived…”

Crashing into the opposite couch in the small quarters, the gravity of it all caught up to Fliis. She felt sick. Her breath shallowed, and she brought her gloved hands to her temples, pressing gently. She could feel her heart still racing from bounding back to the ship carrying the unconscious Twi’lek. Panic, like the sound of screaming insects, began a crescendo in her brain.

“She’s hot,” Ruin interrupted her distress. The absolute absurdity snapped Fliis out of it, and she turned on him incredulously. He stood above the Twi’lek, scanning her.

“Ruin, now is not the time to explore your fleshy fetish!” 

“No, I mean she’s hot. As in covered in weapons. And I don’t have a fleshy fetish!”

“Whatever crosses your circuits, kid. I don’t see any weapons.” Fliis stood, leaning against the frame of the wall that curved over the couch of her vessel. Her false armor clanked as she cocked her hip, inspecting their latest edition to the crew.

“Listen. If you can see it, it’s a weapon. Are you familiar with the term ‘garrote’?” Ruin asked, his electronic voice rising in an unsettling inflection. 

“Ye-aah?” Fliis recoiled from her, searching. “But where is it?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Rack rolled up to them, chirping questions to Ruin in droidspeak. 

“No. I know, I’m just as surprised as you are. Yes I mentioned all the weapons. She accused me of having a fleshy fetish, can you believe? Nobody asked you.”

Fliis stopped trying to follow along. Everything seemed unreal, like she was in a dream. How was she going to explain this Atrax when they got back? There was only so much he could see…

“So, does that mean you didn’t get the credits?” Ruin asked.

“You know, you’re making it very difficult to have a breakdown here, Ruin. We organics have this thing called stress that—“

“Yeah but…did you get them?” Ruin cut in again. Rack chirped a cadence that certainly sounded like laughter. Fliis grit her teeth.

“Yes I got the credits,” Fliis said as she pressed her temples with her palms again, careful not to poke her eyes out with the decorative claws on her gauntlets. “Of course I got the credits! We still have the spice, so we can sell that to someone else. I may have lightened a few purses before I left, too. Are you happy?”

Ruin’s red “eyes” settled on Fliis, unblinking. Shaking his metal head, Ruin let out an electronic “tch.”

“Stealing money from dead people. This is a slippery slope you’re going down, Fliis. I’m worried about you.”

Fliis felt herself snapping.

 

**Mactans**

Surfacing from a great blackness, Mactans slowly became aware of a few things. She was very cold. There was a noise of clamoring bodies, voices clashing just as intensely. As she opened her swimming eyes, Mactans saw the bounty hunter grappling with a droid on the floor, an astromech to the side cheering them on. 

Did she hit her head?

“Now look at that Fliis, you’ve woken her up! And this is going to be her first impression of us! Will you let go of—ack!”

A flurry of dark armor and blue skin wrestled the droid into a hold it should have theoretically been able to break. Did it have some sort of dampener? 

The bounty hunter stopped, making awkward eye contact with Mactans. Eyes somewhere between pink and purple, a bright color like exotic berry wine, wide with surprise and embarrassment fell on her. Blue skin…ear cones…she was a Twi’lek as well. One of her lekku stopped just above the ear cone, severely damaged long ago judging by the scar tissue. Her lips hung open in a wide O for a moment.

Shoving the droid away and dusting off the scuffed armor, the bounty hunter stuttered for a moment in a high voice.

“Hi uh, I’m Fliis,” she said, offering her hand before remembering her spiked glove. “Oop…uh sorry that’s ah…” she stumbled over her words, trying to take it off but only managing to tangle the ungainly claws tipping her fingers.

Not wanting to reveal her true identity, Mactans watched silently. 

“Careful Fliis! Don’t forget the garrote!” the droid cautioned from the floor.

“Ruin I swear on the stars I will deactivate you!” Fliis said, not looking away from the tangle of her hands. Mactans blinked several times. She had to be dreaming. The last thing she remembered after her razing the spice den was a sharpshooting, capable bounty hunter getting the jump on her.

This was unfolding more like a poorly written comedy on the holonet. A fevered stun dream was the only explanation.

Finally managing to pull a glove off with her teeth, she again offered her hand to Mactans. 

“Sorry about all that. I’m Fliis. These are my droids Rack and Ruin. You’re on my ship, the Mischief. You’re safe now.” Mactans didn’t take her hand, didn’t say anything. Instead, she watched the Twi’lek with a carefully neutral expression. She had to get off this ship.

“Hmm…” Fliis hummed. Carefully slipping off the other glove, she began making gestures Mactans couldn’t recognize.

“What are you doing?” she finally said. Mactans wouldn’t let her guard down. It could just be some façade, a ruse to get her to lower her guard and take her back…there. It was above none. Mactans felt her lips pulling down in distaste.

“Oh! I thought maybe you couldn’t hear me. Anyway…” her eyes went faraway, clouded violet slipping into the past. “You’re safe now. We won’t hurt you. Are you hungry?” 

And give this Fliis the chance to poison her? Mactans didn’t think so. She shook her head.

“Okay. Well I’m starving, so I’m going to grab a bite. If you change your mind, Rack can show you the way. Crew’s quarters are just over there, and droids don’t sleep so it’s pretty much never used if you need, ah. Some privacy. But hey! You don’t have to call dibs on the top bunk!” Fliis tried to smile warmly, but it came out more of a strained, awkward, sideways grin.

Mactans nodded. 

 

**Fliis**

Slipping into her personal quarters before heading to the small dining area, Fliis pressed her back to the wall for a moment. They would be back to the base soon, and for the first time Fliis considered it might not have been a great idea to bring the Twi’lek with them.

Pursing her lips, Fliis realized she never got the woman’s name. It wouldn’t have been right to just leave her there. She was obviously in shock. And all those bodies…

Fliis pushed the memories down. She was here, and what was done was done. Struggling out of her disguise, she shrugged into her flight suit. After giving her neck a good stretch she attached her prosthetic lekku Atrax made for her.

Before leaving, Fliis grabbed the blanket from her bed and a datapad. They may be back soon, but there was always time for holonet trash to destress after a wild chitstorm of a day.

Pausing at the doorway, for the first time in a very, very long time Fliis felt self-conscious. Spacer’s digs were not exactly the most flattering thing imaginable, and she wanted to look at least semi-approachable to her passenger. The problem was there were exactly three outfits, including her false armor. All that remained were the digs and a sun dress. Pressing her forehead to the wall in frustration, Fliis hoped she was coming across the right way and not like…well…the rest of the galaxy honestly. 

And then there was figuring out how to explain this to Atrax when they got to base. Thumping her forehead softly, Fliis told herself she would work it out later. Right now she needed something to distract herself. She had done enough worrying in the past hour.

Passing back through the common on the way to the mess, Fliis presented the blanket.

“I know I keep it pretty cold…keeps my rust buckets from overheating,” she said, glaring at Ruin. She knew asking him to behave himself would only make him act like even more of a cut up. 

The expression on the other woman’s face was unreadable, but she took the blanket. Fliis tried another smile. Everything was probably very sudden and strange. Fliis promised to herself she would do whatever she needed to help the woman. Maybe there was a family to reunite, or a new beginning to cultivate just like she had done for herself and Atrax.

Without pressing for anything else, Fliis started toward the mess, paused, grabbed Ruin by the metal wrist, and granted the Twi’lek some privacy.


End file.
